Mea Culpa
by Rhaella
Summary: Oneshot. They never speak of vengeance, of the betrayal, of the war they can both see coming, but the subject lurks behind every glance, every gesture, every word they share. Urahara/Yoruichi.


**Notes:** This was written back in August for Turkish delight on LJ. Bleach isn't mine, etc. etc.

**Mea Culpa**

He's humming to himself – horribly out of key, but then he never could carry a tune. The melody is soft, lilting, old (most likely more so than he is), but it has never before been heard in the world of the living. Listening in silence, she isn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or hit him over the head. Preferably with a large, blunt object.

Instead, she climbs to her feet and says, sharper than she intended, "You can't continue wearing that, you know."

He stares at her blankly for a moment, and then glances down at himself, at the regulation captain class shinigami uniform, and smiles somewhat abashedly. "Right, of course," he replies with a nod and a laugh, and Yoruichi finds it somewhat difficult to accept that a man so brilliant could be so lacking in common sense.

"Still, it's kind of exciting, isn't it?" Kisuke comments a touch too brightly, tapping a finger to his lips. "Life on the run?"

When the humming starts up again, she finally throws one of her sandals at him. Hard.

* * *

That night, they decide that it is safe enough to rest in an inn. If their former comrades are still searching for them – and Yoruichi cannot imagine otherwise – they have thus far ignored Yokohama. And so, after a short consultation, they choose the cheapest inn they can find, and Urahara handles the transaction.

Afterwards, he stretches out on a worn futon – it is clean at least, which is more than can be said for the rest of the room – and is immediately asleep. Yoruichi sits to the side, sipping on slightly bitter tea, and watches him in bemusement. Sleep will not easily come to her tonight, she knows, or likely any other. Their danger is still too great, and she finds herself tensing at the faintest sound.

She stares at Kisuke, troubled by how easily he is able to rest, uncertain of exactly what that might entail. He has begun to behave as if he is oblivious to the severity of their situation, and the implications disturb her.

When he suddenly begins to toss in his sleep, it almost comes as a relief. Yoruichi puts her tea to the side and moves closer to him, resting her hand lightly upon his shoulder. A smile crosses her lips when he relaxes at her touch, and she can momentarily forget that they are exiled and can never again return home.

* * *

"The others are safe," Kisuke comments offhandedly one morning, and Yoruichi glances at him. When she had first found him, two months ago, half mad and alone in the streets of Tokyo, she had wondered where their comrades had gone. She has never yet broached the topic, guessing that the memories are still too painful, but knows that there will never be a better chance.

"Where are they?" she asks.

"In hiding," he replies with an easy smile that she recognizes all too well: this is Kisuke at his most evasive. "I'm not sure where exactly." He shrugs with his whole body, and devours the rice that serves as their breakfast.

She doesn't know which possibility she likes less: that he's keeping secrets from her, or that he's keeping them from himself.

"I'm glad…" Kisuke murmurs, putting his meal down and looking at her, his tone suddenly serious. "I'm glad you chose to come with me."

She doesn't remind him that he had at first asked her to leave; that he had laughed and made a joke of their exile, and then had finally, seriously, claimed they were safer apart. She doesn't remind him of his illogical arguments, or of the anger, guilt, and defeat beneath the casual words. She sees no need.

"You'd probably be dead by now if I hadn't," she says instead, and smiles when he suddenly laughs.

"Ah… I suppose you're right," he replies, a sly smile crossing his lips, as he picks up a fan they had bought off of a travelling merchant and waves it casually at her. "Where would I be without you?"

* * *

It's a question Yoruichi ponders that night, again watching as Kisuke sleeps. It is true that she noticed and single-handedly cultivated the genius of a young shinigami most others had written off, but she believes that he would have ultimately succeeded without her. Minds such as his are seldom idle for long.

She stifles a yawn against the back of her hand, and looks down to find him not quite as unconscious as she had at first believed. "A little bit tired after all?" he teases, sitting up and smiling at her. There are still shadows under his eyes, though she can't imagine why.

"Apparently not as much as you," she replies dryly, but doesn't resist when, still smiling impishly, he grabs her by the wrist and pulls her down beside him.

"You need to get some rest, Yoruichi," he says playfully, stretching the name out and tapping his fingers lightly against her wrist at each syllable. "The way you look right now, you wouldn't last long if they showed up anyway." His smile never fading, he shrugs self-deprecatingly and leans back again. "It doesn't matter; we should be safe here."

The comment is spoken with customary cheer, but Yoruichi trusts him well enough to know that every word is true. Finally giving in, she relaxes beside him, and is almost instantly asleep.

* * *

When she awakens, it is almost midmorning, and something is distinctly different about Kisuke.

"Interesting choice of clothing," she comments neutrally, taking in his new outfit. The kimono is traditional, the coat anything but. Both could be described as green, but the clash is so horrendous that she's tempted to look away.

She had hoped to find him something inconspicuous; she really should've known better.

"This," Kisuke says, indicating the deep green jacket, "I got off of a merchant from America," he bites off the syllables carefully. "Interesting things he had to say about their women," he adds in an undertone, though the thoughtful glance he throws at her is far from subtle.

"Probably nothing imaginative," she replies somewhat suggestively, and enjoys the not entirely insincere blush that suddenly heats his face. Walking past him towards the door, she tosses back over her shoulder, "I thought you hated green."

"I do," he answers easily, and she barely refrains from sighing.

* * *

They never speak of vengeance, of the betrayal, of the war they can both see coming, but the subject lurks behind every glance, every gesture, every word they share.

Glancing at him thoughtfully, at the clothing she knows he hates, she thinks of his forced brightness and his restless nights. She thinks of the solitude that only through persistence she was able to break, and says, as carefully as she can, "None of it was your fault."

"I know," Kisuke replies, though he keeps his eyes carefully averted.

"There is a difference between knowing and believing," Yoruichi points out sharply.

"There is," he agrees easily, smiling slightly as he finally turns to look at her, "but jumping from one to the other isn't really a matter of choice. And I_ was_ there."

She shakes her head, "You were too late."

"I was," he repeats quietly. "And I couldn't save them."

"You_ did_ save them, Kisuke. They're only alive because of you."

"It's not the same," he replies, and the smile briefly falters. "But I know who is to blame, and one day… well."

The conversation finished by the subject neither will yet bring up, he begins to hum, the same soft tune he loves so well. This time, Yoruichi leans back against him and simply listens.

_Finis_


End file.
